


Growing Pains

by thingswithwings



Category: Psych
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood, Chromatic Character, Community: kink_bingo, Corporal Punishment, Gen, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-01
Updated: 2009-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:46:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a perfectly valid erotic identity, Shawn!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Pains

**Author's Note:**

> contains parents spanking their children, and contains pre-pubescent children who have sexual desires and erotic/kinky thoughts. all sex occurs between consenting characters who are of age, and includes some light painplay/punishment.

Gus and Shawn had been in trouble with Mr. Spencer before, and even though it was sometimes scary or involved weird punishments like having to paint the garage door or clean Mr. Spencer's car (in Gus's house, if you do something bad, you get punished with a long conversation on the Golden Rule and a hug and some alone time in your room, which is why Gus tries really hard not to misbehave at home), Mr. Spencer doesn't get angry or yell (any more than he usually does) or hit anybody like the drunk guy in that public service announcement about domestic violence on PBS. Gus knows the signs of child abuse, because he's the official liaison between Mrs. Sanderson's third grade class and Officer Kim, the lady cop who comes by the school on Wednesday afternoons, and he's read all the pamphlets that Officer Kim has ever given them.

This time, though, it's different. Gus knew it was different even before they got caught, because normally when they were doing something bad it was something that would make a mess or constitute what Mr. Spencer called "improper use of resources," like for example the time that they filled Shawn's toy wagon with canned black beans to make a pretend swamp where they could play with the Yoda figurine that Gus got for his birthday, or the time they made themselves mummy costumes using toilet paper and banana pudding. Back when they were kids, they did that kind of thing all the time. Now that they're older and in third grade, things are different. What they're doing this time isn't making a mess and it isn't improper use of resources, maybe because what they're doing this time isn't a game in Gus's opinion. From what Gus can piece together from PBS public service announcements and Officer Kim's pamphlets, it's stealing.

"I don't even care," Shawn says loudly, which probably means that he does care. "They don't notice anything anyway. Boost me up."

At nine years old, Gus has a long history as the guy who does the boosting up when Shawn has a dumb idea, and his innate respect for law and order is overwhelmed by force of habit. Shawn's white-socked foot fits into Gus's palm like it always does, and Gus braces his body against the warm weight of Shawn's calf as he holds him up. Shawn reaches as high as he can, just high enough to touch the top shelf of Mr. and Mrs. Spencer's closet.

"Higher," Shawn says. Gus lifts him higher.

It feels like it takes a long time and Gus's arms are starting to get kind of sore, but eventually Shawn says, "Got it."

Gus moves to let Shawn down again, but even before Shawn's feet are on the carpet there's a sudden loud crashing sound. Gus turns his head to look, and sees that Shawn's knocked something else out of the closet, trying to pull out the box of baseball cards, and it's landed on the hard surface of the dresser. There's glass everywhere.

"Uh oh," Shawn says. Gus is already halfway to the bedroom door when Mr. Spencer walks in.

*

"We're not mad at you, Burton," Mrs. Spencer explains.

After a lot of yelling, Mr. Spencer told Gus to go wait in the hall while he dealt with Shawn. And he pushed the door closed, but the door didn't close all the way, so now sitting outside in the hall with Shawn's mom Gus could still see into the bedroom, could see through the crack in the door.

Mr. Spencer raises his arm slowly into the air, holding his palm flat, then brings it down firmly. Gus can't see that part, he can only see Mr. Spencer's hand on the upstroke and Shawn's ankles with his pants pooling over his socks and the tanned skin of Shawn's bare calves but he can hear it, can hear the sound of a smack every time the hand comes down. Gus counts: five. Six.

"We know it wasn't your idea," Mrs. Spencer continues. Seven. She's sitting next to Gus on the little wicker couch in the corner of the hall, but she's turned toward him so she can't see that the door is open, that Mr. Spencer forgot to close the door all the way. "But Shawn knew that he wasn't allowed in our bedroom, or in our closet, and he knew that he wasn't allowed to take those baseball cards," the hand comes down in Gus's peripheral vision: eight, nine, "and he broke something very valuable and sentimental to Henry and me."

Gus glances up to meet her eyes, because it seems like she's waiting for it. She smiles at him. Ten.

"And we believe in punishing Shawn for breaking the rules," she finished.

Eleven. Twelve. Gus opens his mouth, and his voice comes out kind of squeaky for a second before he coughs a little and tries again. "I – I know that," he says. But he can't keep his eyes on her because on the twelfth smack Shawn makes a noise like he's in pain, and Gus can't help but look back to the partway-open door and the way Shawn's legs are moving around a little now, as if Shawn wants to get up and get away but isn't allowed to yet. Thirteen. Fourteen.

Mrs. Spencer glances behind her and notices the open door. Standing, she walks over and pulls it to just as Gus counts fifteen, just as Shawn's feet are allowed to slide down to the floor. Then the door is closed and Gus can't see Shawn anymore.

"Your parents don't spank, do they?" Mrs. Spencer sounds curious, so Gus does what comes easiest to him and answers honestly.

"No," he says. His mouth is dry.

"Well, that's fine too," she says, kindly. "There are lots of different ways to raise children, and corporal punishment is one valid approach, so long as it's never done in anger." She furrows her brow. "What I mean is, Henry isn't hitting Shawn because he's mad, Burton. He's hitting him so that he'll remember not to break the rules again."

"I understand," Gus says.

"Okay," Mrs. Spencer sighs. "Let's go down to the kitchen, huh? We'll get you boys some juice or something. Your parents are picking you up at four?"

Gus nods.

When Shawn comes down for his juice, he looks angry and his eyes are red like he's been crying.

"Are you okay?" Gus asks. Shawn nods and takes a drink.

"I hate it when they do that," Shawn says, after a minute. He wipes at his eye with the side of his hand.

Gus doesn't know what else to do, so he hands Shawn a cookie from the plate that Mrs. Spencer left out for them. Shawn takes it, and they eat quietly for a few bites.

When Gus gets up his courage, he asks, "What's it like?"

Shawn shrugs. "It's not so bad," he says philosophically. "At least it's over fast so we can go play." Shawn was at Gus's house when Gus got in trouble, once, and he'd had to go home while Gus had his two hours of quiet time.

"What do you want to do?" They had been taking Shawn's dad's baseball cards to show Michael Phillipation down the road, but now that's kind of off.

Shawn thinks for a minute, then smiles. "I have an idea," he says. His hand creeps into Gus's hand and holds on tight. Shawn tugs him across the kitchen. "But you'll have to give me a boost."

Gus lets himself be led by the warm, steady pressure of Shawn's hand.

That night, after his dad tucks him in, Gus thinks about what happened for a long time while he waits to fall asleep. He thinks about the way that Shawn's pants had fallen around his ankles and the noise he made, like it really hurt, and he thinks about what he would say to Shawn if it ever happened again, what he would do. His face is hot where he presses it into the pillow as he imagines: walking into the room, opening the door, saving Shawn from his punishment somehow; or even taking the blame so that Shawn didn't have to, saying it was his fault: taking Shawn's place.

*

Gus buries his face in his sleeping bag, trying not to laugh too loud.

"This is the best movie ever," Shawn whispers, louder than his normal speaking voice. Gus shakes him by the shoulder, holding a finger to his lips.

"You'll wake everyone up," he says. He and Shawn promised they'd be asleep by now, but after _Lethal Weapon_ , they'd decided to put on _Animal House_. It'd been Gus's twelfth birthday a week before, and Joy had given him basically the coolest present any older sister had ever given to a little brother – a stack of two-week movie rentals, all R-rated, all films that Gus and Shawn had desperately wanted to see: _Robocop_ and _Aliens_ and _Police Academy_ and _The Terminator_ , all the movies that Gus read about in _Analog_ , all the movies that Shawn read about in _Mad Magazine_. Gus's parents thought they were downstairs watching kids' movies and playing Nintendo all day, but now it's past one in the morning, and the house is quiet.

"I can't hear it," Shawn complains, quieter now. He reaches for the remote control, but Gus grabs his wrist.

"It'll make too much noise," he hisses. "Just get closer to the TV."

They worm closer in their sleeping bags until they're only inches from the screen, where Jim Belushi is starting a cafeteria foodfight.

Then the scene changes abruptly, and there's a guy walking into the weird rich fraternity house, wearing just his underpants and kneeling down to let someone hit him on the butt with a long wooden board, like a canoe paddle.

It's embarrassing, and Gus doesn't know where to look, so he pretends it's just like the rest of the movie and keeps his eyes on the screen and watches Shawn out of the corner of his eye. Shawn's still smiling from the foodfight scene, but isn't laughing. Gus looks to Shawn, then back to the movie, and then to Shawn again. He squirms in his sleeping bag, and the guy on screen gets hit again, harder this time, rocking him forward as he kneels on the floor.

 _"Thank you sir, may I have another,"_ the movie-guy says. It's supposed to be funny, and it sort of is so Gus laughs a little, but another part of him wishes Shawn weren't here so that he could rewind and play it again, maybe just the part where they hit him, before he talks, just so he could see the way the guy rocks forward on his knees.

"That part was weird," Shawn whispers, after the scene's over, putting his lips right next to Gus's ear so that they stay quiet. "It wasn't really funny, though."

"Not really," Gus agrees, and Shawn grins at him for no good reason, and Gus is glad that Shawn's here after all, to share this secret with him.

Later on in the movie, when Gus says something gross during the toga scene, Shawn has to cover his mouth with his hand while he chokes on laughter, and he reaches out with his other hand and smacks Gus, hard, on the arm.

Gus is grinning wide and his arm is tingling where Shawn hit him.

"Thank you sir, may I have another," Gus says, just like the guy in the movie, as seriously as he can before he starts laughing, too. This sends Shawn into another fit of laughter, and they hunch up together on the rec room floor with the giggles, trying not to make too much noise, and Gus covers Shawn's mouth to keep him quiet and holds him tight until it passes and they can breathe again.

When they've settled down enough to sit up a little, Shawn smiles at him slowly and reaches out; Gus holds still while Shawn smacks him again, harder, in exactly the same place.

"Anything you want, Gus," Shawn says, dorky and serious, and it's like something blooms inside of Gus's chest, hot and soft and full of light.

*

"I don't even care," Shawn says quietly. "He doesn't pay attention to anything I do anyway. Boost me up."

At fifteen years old, Gus has a long history as the guy who does the boosting up when Shawn has a dumb idea, but this time he shakes his head.

"No way, Shawn," he says. "Tell me what you're going to do up there first."

Shawn glares at him. "I'm gonna sit on the garage roof as long as I can, until Henry comes to look for me," he says.

Gus looks at him suspiciously. "That's all."

"That's all. Gus, seriously, are you going to help me or not, because I could just stand on the garbage can or something – "

"Fine, fine," Gus says. He bends one knee and makes a stirrup out of his hands. Shawn steps into it, pushing the warm length of his skinny leg up against Gus's chest. Shawn hasn't quite caught up to Gus in height yet, and it feels like he doesn't weigh anything at all.

Gus lifts.

"Okay, thanks Gus," Shawn says, once he's on the roof. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"That's it? You just want me to leave you there? What if your dad doesn't come out and find you?" He has visions of Shawn falling off the roof, or worse, sitting up there all night.

"I'll be fine," Shawn calls back.

Hesitantly, Gus turns and starts the long walk home. He doesn't live in the same neighbourhood as Shawn anymore, not since Gus's mom got the promotion and they could afford the new place, but he still goes over to Shawn's house and Shawn still comes over to his house, when they can. He pulls his walkman out of his jacket pocket and turns over the tape.

He's just pulling the headphones over his ears and has one foot on the sidewalk when he hears it: a crashing, smashing, breaking sound. He holds still for a second: it could be coming from the neighbours' house, or –

Another crash. Gus spins around on his sneakers and runs full tilt back for the Spencer's garage; he drags the garbage can over to where the roof comes down low and scrambles up as fast as he can.

"Hey, Gus," Shawn says, and throws another rock. It breaks what's left of the bathroom window. Shawn reaches into his pocket and pulls out another, round and smooth, like Shawn had selected it for just this purpose.

"Put the rock down, Shawn," Gus says, holding up his hands like Shawn's got a gun. This is nothing like how they practiced confronting an attacker in gym class. In gym class, even though he always picked Shawn for his partner, Gus had never really imagined having to confront his best friend.

"She's moving out," Shawn says. "Next week."

"Yeah, I know," Gus agrees. "Put down the rock."

"Okay," Shawn says equitably, and throws it. It sails smoothly through what Gus thinks is the window to the guest room. Crash, smash.

"You're just doing this so your dad will come out here and, and – " Gus pauses, because he doesn't really know what Shawn's endgame is here.

"Destruction of Property, Gus," Shawn says, tossing a rock up and down in his hand, "doesn't require a motive. Only a disturbed – " he lobs the rock at the last second-floor window in their line of sight that's left intact, but this time it thunks harmlessly against the sideboard. " – mind."

Suddenly there's a noise below them. " _Shawn!_ "

Gus has never heard Mr. Spencer scream like that, never. He freezes in fear.

" _Get the hell down here right now!_ "

Gus would've thought that the point of Shawn being on the roof was to be out of his dad's reach when he came for him, so that even if the part where he got in trouble couldn't be prevented, it could be delayed until Mr. Spencer wasn't so mad anymore. But Shawn just crawls to the edge of the roof and shimmies down the drainpipe with a grimly satisfied look on his face, as soon as he hears his dad's voice.

"Shawn," Gus says, helplessly. Shawn looks at him, just for a second, and then he's gone, out of view.

He shuffles down to the edge of the roof, thinking to follow, but reconsiders when he gets a glimpse of Mr. Spencer's face, and sort of crouches there, watching, as Mr. Spencer starts yelling. Shawn just nods through the whole thing with a smug little smile on his face, which only makes his dad madder. Gus holds his breath and tries to send a psychic message to Shawn, like they used to when they were kids: _stop it, stop it, you're making it worse, stop, why are you making him mad, stop it –_ but Shawn either doesn't hear him or, more likely, doesn't listen to him, because he tosses his floppy hair out of his face and actually _rolls his eyes_ so his dad can see, and Gus is scared even into psychic silence as Mr. Spencer stops cold mid-rant, grabs Shawn by the shoulder with one hand to twist him around and bend him over, and with the other hand he spanks Shawn, hard, on the ass, twice.

It happens so fast that Gus has to blink, not even sure he really saw it. Shawn looks as surprised as Gus is: the smirk is gone from his face, replaced by pure shock.

"Get in the house, Shawn," Mr. Spencer says, not sounding angry anymore but cool and collected, more like the way he usually sounds when Shawn does something to piss him off. That tone is reassuring, somehow, comforting. As Shawn is marched inside, he glances back over his shoulder and catches sight of Gus still crouching on the roof. Gus can't really see his expression in that split second when their eyes meet, but he can imagine it: embarrassment, anger, outrage, chagrin. Gus sits all the way down on the roof, then, lets his legs hang off the side and breathes in and out, in and out, for a long time.

*

Shawn picks up the Red Phantom action figure that Gus has set out on the dresser to be packed. "Dude, I can't believe you still have this."

"It's a collector's item, Shawn," Gus replies, absently. He's trying to get all his books to fit into the three boxes his parents had mandated, and it's not going well.

"I know!" Shawn says, and makes little fighting noises for a while, making the Red Phantom battle an invisible foe. Then, sighing, he packs the action figure in its original box and puts it in with the rest of the stuff for storage. "You're such a dork."

Gus rolls his eyes and takes the bait willingly, shoving at Shawn's shoulder. "Whatever."

Shawn grins and acts like Gus's little push has unbalanced him: he pinwheels his arms and collapses backwards onto the neatly made twin bed.

"Now see what you've done," Shawn sighs. "There's no way I can possibly help you pack from here."

"So, no change, then." Gus stares at the books in his hands in dismay. How is he supposed to know in advance if he'll want to read _X-Men_ or _Batman_ , _Neuromancer_ or _Snow Crash_?

"Hey," Shawn says from behind him, "are you taking this bed with you?"

Gus tosses the books onto the floor and goes to sit down next to Shawn, who's still sprawled out on top of Gus's blue-striped comforter, taking up way more space than he should with his pointy elbows and long legs. "They have beds in the dorms. As you'd know if you ever read any of the orientation information."

"Right." Shawn sits up a little, bounces up and down. "Remember when we were kids, and we used to make forts in here?"

Gus does remember: they'd pull the bed out from the wall just a little and slip a blanket behind the headboard-bookshelf thing, then push the bed back. Gus's mom didn't like him moving the furniture, but when Shawn was here he always got a free pass somehow, and she would just smile if she saw them using his bedside table to expand the lego city in the living room or using the kitchen chairs to build a better blanket fort. When Gus was younger, he sometimes thought that Shawn had a kind of magic that he carried around with him, something that made things happen, good things, things that couldn't happen in normal, everyday life.

"I remember," he says, and throws himself backwards to lie next to Shawn, sitting crossways on the bed. He hits his head on the wall. "Ow."

Shawn laughs wildly, curling up into a ball beside him.

"Thanks for the sympathy," Gus mutters.

"You do it to yourself, man," Shawn says. Then, without any warning, he presses his smile to Gus's mouth and kisses him softly, the fourth kiss of Gus's life and his first with another boy.

"What was that?" Gus asks, bewildered, when Shawn stops. There's an old familiar mischief in Shawn's eyes that he distrusts, with good reason.

But Shawn doesn't tease or make a joke, just shrugs and blinks slowly. "I dunno," he says. "Do you – do you wanna?"

Gus does – Gus has, for years, wanted to, in that quiet way Gus sometimes wants things that he isn't allowed to have, but the idea that Shawn is here offering it is so surreal that he can't even figure out what to say. So he takes his courage in his hands, closes his eyes, and moves forward to kiss Shawn back.

With his eyes closed, though, he ends up missing Shawn's mouth, kissing his cheek and the upper part of his nose instead. He opens his eyes, and laughs, and then Shawn's kissing him for real, awkward but determined, on the mouth.

"Okay," Gus says, between kisses, answering Shawn's question, "okay, yeah, Shawn, c'mere, jeez, c'mere" and he touches his palm to Shawn's back and shuffles closer to him on the bed.

Shawn is breathing fast and undoing his pants, so Gus follows Shawn's lead and does the same. He feels strange, like he's been untethered from reality, or slipped into another dimension, floating in space; but at the same time he feels too hot, nauseated, and his skin tingles wherever Shawn touches him, on his arm, the sensitive skin at his waist, below his t-shirt. It seems like it takes no time at all until they're touching each other, Shawn's dick strange and unfamiliar in his hand, Shawn's hand sudden strange and unfamiliar too, where it's touching Gus.

The room is quiet except for their slow, steady breathing together.

Gus has never known Shawn to refuse him anything, not anything he really wanted, so he closes his eyes and, greatly daring, pulls Shawn's other hand around to his ass. For an endless second Shawn doesn't move at all and Gus's heart catches in his throat, but then Shawn's fingers spread firmly across the denim and he squeezes, hard, pulling Gus a little closer, and when Gus opens his eyes Shawn is smiling at him and not letting him go and it's perfect.

After, they clean up and do up their pants just in case Gus's mom comes home early, but they stay lying together in the little twin bed. Gus doesn't know what to say.

"Hey Gus," Shawn says, "I need to tell you something."

Gus licks his lips. "Yeah?"

"About college."

Gus can roll his eyes at that; it's safe, familiar territory. "Shawn, I have told you before, there is no way they'll let you have a pet lizard – "

"I'm not going," Shawn says, all in a rush. "I can't go."

Gus is frozen for a second. "Wha – you – but, classes start in a week!"

"I got a job at the zoo," Shawn says, sounding excited. "They have lizards there. I think."

There are so many things that Gus wants to say to this, starting with _you are such a fucking asshole_ and _I can't believe you're only telling me now_ and going all the way through to _but you need college to live_ and _oh god, does your mom know about this_ and _they have geckos at the zoo, Shawn, we went on a class trip in eighth grade and you talked for two weeks about becoming a gecko wrangler on a gecko ranch_.

What Gus ends up saying is, "There is no way that you're leaving me for geckos, Shawn."

"I'm not leaving town, Gus. I'll be here. We'll still be friends." Tentatively, Shawn puts one warm hand on Gus's shoulder.

Gus swallows hard. You can't talk Shawn Spencer out of anything, he knows that, but sometimes if Gus tries hard, he can talk him into things.

"We'll get together on the weekends," Gus says, warningly. "You're gonna buy me beer and be my weirdo townie friend and tag along to frat parties where people will ask me who my weird townie friend is."

"Gus, I'm not gonna be suddenly older than you," Shawn objects, but he's let out the breath that he was holding, and some of the tension is gone from around his eyes. "And let's be honest: you're never going to go to a frat party, dude."

"To ice cream socials and sock-hops, then," Gus grumbles.

"I will be your weird townie best friend date to the sock hop," Shawn promises, solemnly.

"You better believe it," Gus agrees.

*

Shawn does sort of become his weird townie best friend for a while, but somewhere inside Gus knows that it's only temporary, that by himself he can't hold Shawn's attention forever. He gets weirdly okay with the idea, and hangs out with Shawn when he can – but the pre-med courses he's taking are demanding, and sometimes it's hard to find time to leave campus when he has labs and lectures and discussion sessions to attend, exams to study for, homework to do.

Shawn saves up his money from working at the zoo, the gas station, the art museum, the boxing club, and the haberdashery, and takes a trip to Europe. Gus misses him. When Shawn comes back, it's only for three months before he's gone again, but during those three months Gus hangs out with him and plays arcade games with him and goes along with him when he says he wants to go swimming, even though the water is freezing, and holds a towel for him when he emerges, shivering, from the ocean.

The next trip is longer, and the next time he's back in town, it's only for three weeks. Gus starts to get used to thinking of Shawn like a circus that might roll through town, like a thunderstorm, like a snow day: when he shows up, Gus drops everything, reshapes his life to make room for Shawn again, and Shawn slots back in next to him like he was never gone, leaves like he was never there.

Gus doesn't really bother to get any new friends in college; he feels like he's used up all the friendship he has inside him, being friends with Shawn his whole life, and mostly he's pretty okay with that. No one else gets his jokes, anyway. And for all his globetrotting, Shawn seems to feel the same way; at least he never really hangs out with anyone but Gus in Santa Barbara, and he never talks about people he's met while he's away except to tell funny stories about staying in hostels or buying train tickets.

Gus does get a girlfriend for a little while, a girl he meets at a chamber music recital, and that's nice, kissing her in his dorm room when his roommate's away, letting her touch his chest and his back. Her name is Marta and she's a junior and they have sex a few times before they break up, and Gus likes the way she likes to be on top but doesn't dream of asking her for anything more, or guiding her hand to his ass the way he did with Shawn. She might be fine with it, she might even be into it, or she might not; either way, she wouldn't understand, not really.

He finds the university library section on human sexuality, and spends a lot of time reading. It's a relief to know that there are words for it, entries in the indices of serious-looking books, a body of scholarship, dissenting opinions on which Gus can educate himself. Gus had known all about people being gay and how you could get AIDS, but he had never heard of himself before.

He has other girlfriends over the years, and even though he thinks about doing all the things he's learned about in the course of his research, he never quite brings himself to ask, and they never offer. He fires up his new 486 and looks at the AOL personals, sometimes, looks for men even. But the only people interested seem to be white guys over the age of fifty who post embarrassing, unattractive pictures of themselves holding riding crops or wearing motorcycle boots, and Gus can't figure out how to filter his search results for skeeviness. For a while, he seriously considers having sex with someone like that anyway, just to see what it's like, but in the end he can't quite bring himself to do it.

Sometimes, on the occasions when Shawn blows into town, Gus looks at him over pizza or while handing him the Playstation controller and wonders what life would've been like if Shawn had come to college with him, found something here to satisfy his curiosity and his energy. Maybe they would've had sex again, maybe not. Gus doesn't really regret it, but he does think about Shawn's hand on his ass that one time when they were kids, the way Shawn had hesitated but known what to do.

*

"You're really staying," Gus says, one day, after they've just come back from the police station. He's a twenty-nine year old pharmaceuticals salesman, which isn't how he imagined the future when he was a kid, but he's also Shawn's best friend, which is exactly how he imagined it, and mostly these days Shawn sticks around Santa Barbara, so he even gets to be Shawn's best friend on a regular basis. Solving crime is new, though.

"Yes!" Shawn spreads his arms wide to take in the office around them. "Gus, how many mysteries do I have to solve before you will believe in my psychic powers?"

"Probably a lot more," Gus says, arching an eyebrow. "Since you don't have any psychic powers."

Shawn throws his arms in the air, fake-angry. "You don't believe in me. I am like Whoopi Goldberg in _Ghost_ , forced to waste my gift on those who don't understand it."

"First of all, don't compare yourself to Whoopi," Gus warns, "and second, what is up with that threesome ghost-possession kiss!"

"I know, right?" Shawn agrees. "I gotta be possessed more often. Gus, make a note." Gus does.

Sitting down, Shawn picks up the phone and starts dialing what Gus presumes to be the jerk chicken place.

"Don't forget – " Gus starts to say, but Shawn gives him a fond, reproachful look.

"The plantain things, yes, I know." Shawn smiles at him over the receiver. "Gus, I know what you like. Now hush, the lady who answers the phone has a very quiet voice."

Gus rolls his eyes, but can't help smiling a little, because Shawn does know what he likes. He decides to ride this fake psychic detective agency thing out; even if Shawn is statistically unlikely to stay put for long, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

*

"I – will you just – "

"Gus, I can't _move_ , I don't know why you think I can – "

"Yeah, but if you move your leg – "

Shawn squirms wildly against him. "I _can't_ move! There is no more space under here."

Gus tries again to get his stomach off of Shawn's elbow and his thigh out from where Shawn's knee is holding it to the underside of the bench they're hiding beneath, but it's no good. Shawn's right, there is no more space, not unless they stick an arm or a leg out into the open where they'd be seen.

"Is this even really necessary?" Gus hisses. "I mean, we could just say that we're here to visit the church."

Shawn considers this. "In retrospect, I admit that yours may have been the better strategy. But since we can't exactly crawl out from under a bench during a service and claim to be regular visitors, we'll have to save it for next time."

Gus groans quietly and drops his forehead to rest on Shawn's shoulder. "I hate you," he says, sincerely.

"You love me," Shawn murmurs back, and slaps Gus reproachfully on the thigh.

Luckily, the baptism doesn't last too long, and they get out from under there before Gus can do something stupid, like kiss Shawn's ear.

*

"Boost me up," Shawn whispers, looking up at the little decorative ledge below Mr. McGovern's second story window.

At thirty-four years old, Gus has a long history as the guy who does the boosting up when Shawn has a dumb idea, so he makes a stirrup out of his hands and takes the warm weight of Shawn's leg against his chest. Once Shawn is up, he turns and reaches his hand down, open-palmed, so that Gus can grab on, can balance on an upside-down clay pot and brace his foot against the drainpipe and scramble up beside him.

"How did you know the window was unlocked?" Gus asks, keeping his voice low.

"I didn't," Shawn shrugs, and pushes at the sash. Of course it's unlocked; if Gus were here with anybody else, it would be locked like most windows on most houses are always locked, but Shawn's always had a kind of magic that he carried around with him, something that made good things happen, things that couldn't happen in normal, everyday life.

And anyway, there isn't anybody else in the world who would pull Gus up onto a decorative ledge outside a dead guy's house at three o'clock in the morning as prelude to a B&E, so maybe it all works out.

When they're finally done at the McGovern house an hour later, Gus doesn't feel like driving all the way back out to Shawn's place, and Shawn is in his usual state of post-felony late-night easy acquiescence, so he agrees easily enough to crash on Gus's couch.

They brush their teeth together with the ease of long practice, taking turns spitting into the sink, with Gus on the left because he's a toothbrush switch-hitter. When Shawn has rinsed and Gus has said to hell with flossing just this once, they both move for the door at the same time and sort of get stuck in each other's way.

"Shawn," Gus says impatiently, as Shawn moves in exactly the opposite direction of the direction where he'd get out of Gus's way. Gus takes him by the shoulders, pushes him against the doorway. "Just hold still."

"Okay," Shawn says softly.

Gus moves past him and goes to dig out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts for Shawn to wear to sleep.

When he comes back to the living room, Shawn is slumped over the edge of the couch with his head pillowed on his arms, looking half asleep. Gus collapses down beside him.

"Here," Gus says, and tosses the clothes into Shawn's lap.

"Thanks."

Gus keeps meaning to get up and go to bed, except now he's been up so long that he doesn't really feel tired anymore, and wonders whether he'll be able to get to sleep.

"Hey Gus," Shawn says, after a minute.

"Yeah?"

"Remember that time when we were kids, and you boosted me up over the fence into Mrs. Henderson's yard?"

"I remember her dog," Gus agreed.

"And when you boosted me up onto the roof of the gym, that time Jennifer Delacroix gave us pot?"

"Yeah," Gus said. His shoulder presses warmly against Shawn's on the couch. Shawn sits up a little and turns his head to smile at Gus.

"That's a lot of boosts, is what I'm saying."

Gus kisses him.

Shawn, after a second, kisses back.

"Do you wanna?" Shawn asks, when they pull apart. Gus rolls his eyes.

"I can't believe you're still using that dumbass excuse for a pickup line," he laughs.

Shawn shrugs, and snakes his fingers around Gus's wrist. "Worked on you, didn't it?"

"Yeah, when I was an eighteen year old virgin," Gus snorts. Shawn's fingers stop suddenly.

"You were – " he says. "I thought, with Jennifer Delacroix . . . "

"Are you kidding?"

Shawn throws up a hand in exasperation. "Well, there's my whole sexual history ruined," he says. "Here I thought I had my first time with an older, more experienced – "

"Shawn, I'm three weeks older than you," Gus interrupts.

" – man of the world, someone who could educate me in the ways of love – "

"I came on your Pantera t-shirt."

"You've ruined everything, Gus," Shawn says fondly, and kisses him.

When they get to Gus's bed, it's weird for a second – Shawn taking off his shirt, Shawn's hands on Gus's fly – but after a misplaced fit of the giggles Gus is over it, is lying down on his side and kicking off his underwear, with Shawn facing him like it's something they do all the time, or like they didn't take sixteen years between tries.

"Gus," Shawn says, and grabs Gus by the wrist, "hey, Gus," like he does when he's trying to talk Gus into something.

Slowly, deliberately, Shawn guides Gus's hand over Shawn's waist and down to cup his ass. Gus kneads firmly for a second, then meets Shawn's eyes.

"I want you to," Shawn says, inexplicably. "I've thought about it."

"You want – uh, I don't have any – "

"No no no," Shawn says quickly, closing his eyes in frustration. Then he opens them suddenly, and Gus knows all too well the scheming look that comes over his face.

"I've done that though," Shawn says, his voice low and rough. He kisses Gus fast, dirty. "When I was away, there were, I, with other men."

Something low and hot uncoils in Gus's belly. Is he – does Shawn mean –

"I thought about you," Shawn continues. Gus kneads his ass again and uses his grip to pull Shawn closer, breathing hard all of a sudden. He's never heard Shawn sound like this, breathy and hesitant and choked all at once. "I always thought about you but I never – I only did it with strangers, Gus." Shawn squirms back against Gus's hand, then forward, his dick brushing wetly against Gus's stomach.

"Shawn," Gus says, helplessly, mouthing Shawn's neck, then says it again, says: "Shawn."

"I let them fuck me," Shawn says softly, "but not you, never you, for years – "

Gus lands a firm, stinging slap on Shawn's ass. Shawn cries out with surprise and slings his thigh over Gus's hip, bringing their cocks together. Shawn's forehead comes down hot against Gus's neck, and Gus worms an arm under him so that he can hold Shawn's head, cradle his neck with his palm.

Gus counts off three long breaths, and then when Shawn doesn't speak he does it again: brings his hand up and smacks Shawn hard, a little lower down this time. Shawn moans quietly into Gus's shoulder.

"I wanted you," Shawn says. Gus can barely hear him. He hits Shawn again.

"Speak up, Shawn," Gus says, into his ear.

"I wanted you," he says again, louder. "But I – but I left, I left you – " A fourth slap, and Gus's hand is beginning to tingle. "And I didn't – " five, " – let myself – " six, " – near you." Seven. Eight. Nine. "Gus," Shawn says. "Gus, Gus, Gus – "

Gus closes his eyes briefly and rubs up against Shawn, thrusts against him almost mindlessly as he gropes Shawn's ass, where Shawn must be getting sore, must be getting red –

"Please, Shawn," Gus pants. Shawn brings his hand between them and strokes them both together, hard, perfect, and Gus brings his palm down against Shawn's ass: ten. Eleven. Shawn makes a whimpering noise in his throat and jacks them harder, his cock pushing against Gus's, his thigh heavy and solid over Gus's hip, his skin hot under Gus's hand. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

Gus is thrusting fast into Shawn's hand, and Shawn bites at Gus's shoulder and comes just as Gus lands fifteen, just before Gus is closing his eyes tight and shaking through his own orgasm, calling Shawn's name.

They take a little while to catch their breath, but Shawn kisses him again right after, open-mouthed and sweet, playful and cajoling, like he's trying to talk Gus into something. It's a little while before Gus can get his breathing under control, can deal with the sudden reality that is Shawn's hot skin pressed up against his own.

But when Gus finally meets his eyes, Shawn is grinning.

"Dude," he says, "that was awesome." Gus can't help but grin back.

"You better believe it," he agrees, smug.

"I'm sticky and gross though, hang on." Shawn is up in a flash and half-running to the bathroom, naked and ridiculous, and Gus hasn't ever loved anyone in his life like he loves Shawn in that moment. Outside Gus's window, the sun is just coming up.

When Shawn comes back with a wet facecloth and a towel, he wrinkles his nose.

"The thing about two dudes is all the _mess_ ," Shawn says. Gus agrees.

After a second, Gus asks, "Did you mean what you said, about all the other guys?"

Shawn shrugs. "Sort of, yeah." Then he looks Gus in the eye. "I really did think of you, buddy," he says softly. "I just . . . " he trails off.

"And you knew? About me and the, the – "

"The spanking thing?" Shawn smiles. "Gus. C'mon. Not even I can watch _Animal House_ that many times. Or read that much Samuel Delany, for that matter."

Gus laughs. Shawn finishes cleaning up and drops the towels on the floor.

"Face it, my friend, I've known you were a pervy spanking freak for years." He yawns and crawls under the covers, where he puts his cold annoying feet on Gus's shins.

"It's a perfectly valid erotic identity, Shawn," Gus says, nettled.

"Whatever," Shawn agrees, and curls around him. "I'm probably a pervy spanking freak too."

At first, Gus is a little taken aback by the easy press of Shawn's body against his; but then slowly, awkwardly, he winds an arm around Shawn's shoulders.

"Get some sleep," Shawn instructs, as if Gus had given some indication that he might run a marathon or break out his dance party mix. "We have to go down to the station at noon."

"Before Buzz goes on the Wednesday smoothie run," Gus agrees. His eyes close of their own volition. Under the covers, he lets his hand drift down past the small of Shawn's back, and falls asleep with his palm against the hot skin of Shawn's ass.


End file.
